


Draft

by ginnyred



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 02:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20268202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginnyred/pseuds/ginnyred
Summary: Marti is awake but still in bed, his back propped up against the pillow, Nico’s laptop open and balanced on the top of his thighs. Nico watches him frown at the screen and write down something in an old notebook he must have dug up somewhere in Nico’s room.He doesn’t seem to have noticed Nico waking up, but Nico raises an eyebrow at him anyway.“Are youstudying?!”





	Draft

**Author's Note:**

> "Is this it?" I hear you ask. "Is this the time Ginny finally shuts up about football?"
> 
> Well, my friends. It is my pleasure to reveal that it is, in fact, not that time.
> 
> Apologies to those who held out hope.

When Nico wakes up after a nap, it’s early in the evening. He can tell from the way the light filters in obliquely through the blinds, bathing his room in warm orange hues.

Making Marti’s hair glow like a coppery halo. Nico smiles to himself at the view.

Marti is awake but still in bed, his back propped up against the pillow, Nico’s laptop open and balanced on the top of his thighs. Nico watches him frown at the screen and write down something in an old notebook he must have dug up somewhere in Nico’s room.

He doesn’t seem to have noticed Nico waking up, but Nico raises an eyebrow at him anyway.

“Are you _studying?!_”

Marti looks up, surprised.

“Oh, you’re awake.” He smiles. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Nico scoots closer, grinning. “Does sleeping here makes you want to be productive now? Maybe I _am_ a good influence.”

Marti rolls his eyes.

“I’m not studying. I’m looking up players’ stats.” He turns the screen to the side so Nico can look, but all he sees are tables and numbers and abbreviations he doesn’t understand. “For tomorrow’s draft.”

Nico snakes an arm around Marti's chest and lays his head on his shoulder, smiling smug.

“That’s when you guys argue for hours over which hot fit men to buy for your imaginary football teams, right?”

Marti bites the inside of his cheek so he won’t smile.

“Are you jealous?”

“Well, yeah. I want to look at hot guys too. Who’s this?” Nico points to the screen and Marti bats his hand away, though he’s giggling.

He scrolls up so Nico can see the picture, but Nico wrinkles his nose, unconvinced.

“Nah, don’t buy him.”

“I don’t buy them based on looks,” Marti argues, amused.

“And how many times have you won the league?” Marti rolls his eyes, and Nico grins. “See? You might need a change of strategy.”

“Well, why don’t _you_ create your own team. Then we’ll see who does better.”

“So I can leave you hanging while we’re making out because 'fuck, the early kick-off. I haven’t picked my starting team yet'?”

Nico’s impression of Marti’s voice is admittedly terrible, but it doesn’t really matter because Marti is a little ball of pride (well, not so little) and would be annoyed regardless.

“That was _one time_. And I don’t sound like that.”

“'I don’t sound like that',” Nico repeats, keeping up the bad impression.

Marti huffs and makes to push Nico off him, but Nico laughs and clings to Marti’s chest like a koala.

They end up in a mess of limbs and giggles and Nico’s laptop slides off Marti’s legs and onto the bed. Nico closes it with his calf and kicks it away.

(Sorry, mum. But see? It didn’t fall.)

Marti didn’t start from the best position, Nico was half on top of him already, so it’s not hard for Nico to grab one of his wrists and pin it down, as he straddles Marti’s lap with a smug grin.

“I was actually, you know, looking up stuff,” Marti points out in a sarcastic tone. He doesn’t seem to mind too much. His left hand is firmly placed on Nico’s hip, keeping him where he is.

“Oh, no. What shall we do,” Nico offers, clearly mocking.

“Yeah, what,” Marti echoes.

They look at each other with suppressed smiles. Marti’s is lopsided, his mouth pulled to one side with all the things he’s not saying, eyes sparkling. Warm.

Magnetic.

Nico unconsciously lets go of Marti’s wrist.

“What?” Marti asks, and Nico realises he’s been staring like a fool.

He considers lying for a second, if just to keep up the banter, but the need to tell Marti is stronger.

“Nothing. You’re beautiful and it’s distracting.”

Marti rolls his eyes, cheeks colouring slightly; Nico knows he can't take a compliment to save his life. It’s stupidly endearing.

“Whatever. Do you wanna come tomorrow?”

Nico raises an eyebrow.

“I was hoping today too?”

Marti smacks his leg, but he laughs.

“Idiot,” he says. “To the draft. You don’t have to join or anything. You can just be there. With me. Watch Elia outbid me every time.”

“Right.” Nico sits up a bit straighter. His heart starts hammering in his chest like he's been running for miles - and maybe he has, but only with his mind. “Who’s gonna be there?”

It doesn’t sound casual in the slightest, and it hardly takes mind-reading skills for Marti to pick up on what Nico is really asking.

He sighs.

“Yeah, they all know. I mean, there’s the guys of course, il Peccio, a couple other people from my class, Galvani-”

“Ah.” Nico grimaces. “Is he still 'fine with with but doesn’t wanna see it'?”

“I don’t know, but he apologised,” Marti says with a shrug.

“Yeah, after Gio almost punched him.”

“I don’t care. We need ten players for the league and, like, I’ve seen scarier than fucking _Galvani_.” Marti scoffs and lifts his chin up, almost like a challenge. It’s probably unconscious, but it breaks Nico’s heart anyway.

That Marti feels like he always has to fight.

“When Gio asked if I wanted him out, I said no. I don’t… know if I was right or not.” Marti’s tone softens on the last words. Nico reaches for his hand, his thumb brushes Marti's wrist, and he intertwines their fingers. He kisses Marti’s knuckles softly, eyes closed.

A promise or maybe a vow. A wordless one.

“But hey.” Marti lifts his other hand up to touch Nico's cheek, stroking it gently. Soothing. Giving back. Nico can’t help but lean into it, chase the comfort Marti’s touch always brings. “I get it if you don’t want to be there. What he said _was_ shitty and it’s not like we have to be best friends with him now just because he said sorry.”

Nico shakes his head.

“No, I want to be there,” he says. Spending time with Marti is more important than Galvani's stupid comments. And why should Nico let him win anyway? “But I _will_ point out how this whole thing revolves around worshipping hot athletic men.”

“Fair,” Marti concedes with a laugh.

They smile at each other.

Nico watches, amused, as Marti looks up at him and then down again, taking in their current positions: Marti lying on his back, Nico straddling his lap. Marti’s gaze travels all the way up again and he raises an eyebrow at Nico. “Are you going to do something at some point or is it just comfortable?”

“Just comfortable,” Nico says with a grin, his tone soft but teasing.

He’s already leaning in for a kiss.


End file.
